


The Virtue of Standardized Testing

by lea_hazel



Category: Cinders (Visual Novel)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Class Issues, Community: trope_bingo, F/M, Gen, Out of Character, Social Isolation, Trope Bingo Round 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-31
Updated: 2013-10-31
Packaged: 2017-12-30 23:00:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1024412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lea_hazel/pseuds/lea_hazel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cinders gets a scholarship to attend the same college as her step-sisters. They end up sharing a history class and a disgruntled TA. Teacher/student relationship is implied only.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Virtue of Standardized Testing

**Author's Note:**

> Perrault is kind of off-model, I know. I had to play a little fast and loose with the dynamic between him and Basile. There's some role reversal involved.

Her mother had no idea how Cinders managed to get a scholarship, but she shipped her off to college alongside her sisters, anyway. Not out of the kindness of her heart, but because there was no way around it. They all took the same SAT, and they all scored highly, which meant they all got accepted into the same school. Not that Cinders was thrilled to spend the next four years on the same cramped campus as her beloved, darling step-sisters, but it was the best liberal arts college in the state, and the only one where she qualified for financial aid. 

It was going to be all right. As long as she gritted her teeth and made it through the drive, they would separate as soon as they got there. Go off to their respective dorms and classes and nod from a distance when they inevitably passed each other in the quad. The sisters were naturally sharing a room, which was Carmosa’s idea of course. Whether it was to keep them away from undesirable social elements, or to make snitching that much easier, was anyone’s guess. 

At least she knew one other person, someone who would make her feel welcome. Tobias was taking his economics classes there, and he promised he would be around a lot even though he lived and worked off-campus. They'd seen so little of each other lately, and Cinders was looking forward to catching up. Not that she'd picked the college that might decide her future just because one of her friends lived nearby. Okay, her _only_ friend. Still, it was good to know that there was someone rooting for her, because Gloria and Sophia sure weren't, much less Carmosa. 

All that was cold comfort when Cinders stepped into the lecture hall for the very first class of the semester and saw Gloria sitting in the frost row, her file folder and pens lined up neatly in front of her. She'd been looking forward to this class, too. Well, there was no sense in being rude. From this distance, if she tried to just pretend no one was there she would look, and feel, ridiculous. 

“Good morning, Gloria.” 

Gloria looked up from realigning her highlighters. “Oh,” she said, clearly shocked. She recovered quickly. “Good morning, Cinders. I'm surprised to see you here.” 

“Likewise,” said Cinders, blithely avoiding the issue of why Gloria was so surprised. “I don't suppose Sophia is here, too?” 

Gloria scowled and her voice dripped with a special vitriol that she reserved only for her sister. ”Actually, she's sitting up there.” 

Cinders followed the pointing finger and spotted Sophia sitting in the furthest corner of the very last row. “I see,” she said skeptically. 

“That girl has no sense,” said Gloria, shaking her head and clucking. 

Before she could launch into a lengthy screed about Sophia's bad habits, Cinders nodded quickly and said, “Well, I'd better find a seat before the lecture starts.” 

She congratulated herself on her ingenious escape and settled in one of the empty seats. Not on the first row, that was a bit too much scrutiny for her very first lecture, but close enough to hear everything and take notes. How Sophia was planning on doing either of those things, she didn't know. Not that it was any of her business if she came all the way to college and didn't even bother listening to her teachers. She wasn't Gloria and she didn't need to try and fix other people's personalities to feel good about herself. 

Just as she'd settled that issue, the door opened and a man walked in. He looked a bit young to be a professor, and maybe even a little too good-looking. Sure enough, he introduced himself as a TA before laying out the course's curriculum for them in exhausting detail. Apparently, the professor for this particular class would not be showing up until the second week of classes. He gave some excuse about reviewing the basics and making sure everyone was up to scratch, but it was hard to swallow. 

Cinders knew her early education was a lot poorer than most of the other students. Carmosa had sent her to a notorious city-run high school while enrolling her own daughters in a prestigious academy, two train rides across town from where they lived. When she was filling out her applications Carmosa had told her that even if she got accepted, she'd never be able to keep up with her classes and would end up dropping out and wasting a lot of money on nothing. That anxiety had been hard to dispel, especially since there was a grain of truth in it that Cinders couldn't ignore. 

“I'm not worried about you,” Tobias told her over the afternoon coffee he had bought for her. 

“Easy for you to say,” said Cinders with a sigh. “Your dad sent you to a great school.” 

“And now I'm trying to do a degree while working full time,” he replied. “I have to get all my assignments done during my lunch hour if I want to be free in the evenings. We all have our own challenges.” 

“That's true,” said Cinders. “For example, Gloria's challenge is coming up with an original thought when the TA asks her opinion.” She laughed a little. 

Tobias looked at her strangely. “You really hate your sisters, don't you?” 

Cinders turned her cup around in her hands and slowly sipped from it. “I suppose I do,” she said eventually. “I try not to think about it too much. Why should I, where are much nicer things to occupy my mind with?” 

“Such as this bright, beautiful fall day,” said Tobias, “and a good cup of coffee.” 

“And good friends,” said Cinders, smiling brightly. 

The second week of classes was much better than the first. She had finally gotten all her boxes unpacked, and had at least a pretty good idea of what her classes and teachers would be like. All of them except the elusive history professor, that is. Possibly he thought his absence made him seem aloof and imposing, but Cinders thought it just made him a jerk. Gloria was clearly impressed, though. She did so love figures of authority, and the TA-who-was-trying-too-hard was making her nervous with all his open-ended thinking exercises. 

All in all, though, Cinders hardly had to think about her sisters, for once. It was a welcome change from living under the same roof, even if there were times when she didn't quite know what to do with all the free time she suddenly had. Homework and research assignments hadn't started piling up yet, and she hadn't made any friends in any of her other classes. She considered applying for a volunteer position in the library, if only so that she could do something productive. And maybe meet a few of her fellow students. 

Once again, history was her first morning class of the week. When the chronically unimpressed TA strode in, Cinders was ready to assume that the professor had bailed on them yet again. But luck was with them, and he was only there to set up the projector before retreating with his pretentious ponytail and his judgmental attitude when his boss finally made his first appearance. 

And his appearance was not at all what Cinders had expected. 

“My apologies,” said the professor. “I don't usually miss the first week of classes, much less with first year students. Rest assured that I'll be present for every lecture for the rest of the semester.” 

A soft groan rippled through the lecture hall, and the professor smiled thinly. 

Cinders wondered what had caused his absence. What urgent business could call a historian away from his faculty? Judging from the look of him, he was called away to retrieve an archeological artifact from a booby-trapped tomb in the depths of a South American jungle. Possibly while being chased by Nazis. She wondered whether she would spot a whip hanging on the wall if she went to his office during calling hours. 

“My teaching aid informs me,” he went on, pacing back and forth on the dais with his arms locked behind his back, “that this year's students are hopeless, one and all. I myself am prone to an optimism which he lacks. Let's see which one of us is vindicated, shall we? I believe your reading assignment was chapter four of Hayworth, so let's see who actually did the reading. Any volunteers?” 

Cinders didn't twitch. Volunteering went against all her instincts. Apparently most of the students felt similarly, since the lecture hall was still except for two or three hesitant hands. Naturally, one of them was Gloria's, held aloft like a proud flag, right there in the middle of the first row. The students' lack of enthusiasm for the subject didn't dampen the professor's any. He conducted the rest of the lecture in reasonably good cheer, or so it seemed. 

“Now remember,” he said just before concluding the lesson, while antsy students were already covertly slipping their binders back into their bags, “it makes no difference if you do the reading, only if you understand it. The objective isn't to answer questions correctly or pass a test.” 

On her way out, Cinders heard a strange student softly mutter, “You keep telling yourself that.” 

***

Basile was having a very bad day. His coffee was cold, his thesis was stalled, and he had no umbrella so it was sure to rain. On top of it all he was TAing an introductory class, of all things, and of course the fresh-faced first year students were more interested in tweeting about his fashion choices than in learning the material he was trying to teach them. _Yes_ , he'd seen the hashtag. On days like these, handling his advisor's inexhaustible equanimity was a little too much to bear. 

Perrault was in his office, which was almost unusual. The man must have been going through some sort of midlife crisis that compelled him to wear a leather jacket to work and accept all sorts of last-minute speaking engagements in weird places from questionable sources. Which left Perrault in charge of the mob of smart phone wielding peasants. He could tell they didn't like him, and it was just a matter of time before he carelessly incited some sort of student uprising. 

“Ah, Basile,” said the professor. “Where have you been? Still quelling insurrection in the classroom?” 

“I tried democracy,” said Basile dryly. “The ballots came in blank.” 

“Are you sure?” 

He pinched his nose. “If there's a student in this course who isn't appallingly lazy and insipid, he must also be a master of stealth and disguise, because I've seen no sign of him.” 

“Don't write the lot off yet, Basile,” said Perrault. “Just the other day I was flummoxed by a student's impertinent remark. Rather rude, but to the point.” 

“Who was this?” asked Basile, interested despite himself. 

“She's easy to miss, if you don't pay attention,” he said, “although I wish she'd ask more questions instead of only speaking up when she has a sarcastic comment to share with the class.” 

“In the back row?” asked Basile. He thought he noticed a girl muttering up there from time to time. 

“No,” said Perrault. “She sits closer to the front, a ginger-haired wit. Try calling on her sometime, that might prod her to speak more productively. Make your teaching commitments less dull so you won't bolt back to your research so urgently.” 

“I have a lot of work to do!” said Basile defensively. 

“You don't want to be married to your dissertation,” said Perrault. “It never ends well. You're already so isolated. When was the last time you spoke to someone other than me or the librarian?” 

“You think I should chat up your witty ginger friend?” he asked. 

“I've heard worse ideas.” 

“Anyway,” said Basile, getting up to cut the conversation short, “I'd better get those quizzes graded or I'll never make it to the microphiche room before it closes for the night.” 

Perrault shook his head but said nothing more. 


End file.
